Dark Mafia Heir: Chapter 26

From the moment we stepped through that door, the eyes hadn’t stopped following us. I blame her for looking so fucking tempting tonight. As far as I am concerned, she’s the only jewel in the room.

Her red dress clings to her every curve. It’s silk, or something that looks like silk, ripples with every step she takes. The plunging neckline is just a shy of scandalous, and the slit along her thigh seems designed to test every man’s self-control.

My hand rests possessively on the small of her back as we go to take our seats, but it feels like a futile gesture. I take a chair out for her, watching as she gracefully sits, before I occupy the empty space beside hers.

She’s radiant. Her red hair cascades in loose waves over one shoulder, her lips painted a deep, intoxicating crimson to match her dress. I spot a man, standing not far away in the midst of company. His drink is halfway to his lips as he gawks at her. The fucker doesn’t even bother to hide it as he drags his gaze over her like he’s entitled to it.

My jaw tightens, and I hook my fingers under her chair, pulling her closer.

It’s that she doesn’t notice, or she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t turn towards my direction, which unsettles me, and, when I think about it, I realize she hasn’t looked at me once since tonight; not at home or on our way here.

I slip an arm around her waist, leaning closer to whisper against her neck. The whole room is watching; I can feel it, but I don’t pay them any heed.

“Gattina.” I feel her melt against my arm, but she catches her lower lip between her teeth. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat something?”

She shakes her head.

“How about a drink? Thirsty?”

She shakes her head again, and I grow concerned.

A quiet Vivienne is not a good sign, and I’m not sure what to do to handle the situation, but I know there’s something wrong. I feel it in my core.

The music swells around us, and, feeling utterly helpless and annoyed with myself for not being able to do something, I try to focus on the conversation around the table. I have never been a big fan of these types of gatherings. Phony faces with practiced smiles, feigning delight to see you, all the while hiding the secret wish for your downfall. All the same, it is necessary to attend, socialize, and establish potential connections. And maybe uncover those secrets while at it.

I reach for the Kauffman bottle on the table to fill my glass when someone in a night blue suit approaches our table with a line of bodyguards behind him. He fucking occupies the empty seat on the other side of my wife.

The conversations around us minimize to a quiet hush and the side of my face sizzles with an awareness that this unprecedented collision has the center stage in the hall.

Tilting his head to the side, he raises the cigar between his fingers, and the corner of his eyes crinkles when he smiles.

“Antonio Mancini,” he drawls dryly, but the wide smile on his face doesn’t give away anything else. “Pleasure meeting you here.”

I take my glass to my lips, glaring at him over the rim. It had been a while since he made an appearance in this type of public gathering. I don’t trust this man, and having him near me, close to Vivienne sets me on edge and my blood boiling. But the people are watching, waiting to point fingers at the one who makes the first move.

“Salvatore.” I tilt the glass toward him. “Can’t say the same.”

Grinning, he looks away from me, and the blood in my body boils hotter when he releases a crude and unrefined whistle, gazing desirously at Vivienne. She stiffens when he curls a finger underneath her chin and crooks her head to face him.

“And who’s this vixen? My, my, my…can I have you as my plus one for tonight, pretty one?”

I grit my teeth with anger swelling in my gut. “The only thing you’ll have tonight is a bullet in your brain if you don’t take your hands off my wife.”

One of his bodyguards reaches to grab his gun, but I’m faster. I pull my gun from my holster and aim it at him.

The loud crack of a bullet splitting through the air makes someone scream. Murmurs and hushed whispers spread like wildfire across the room.

“Next time, I won’t miss.”

I drop my gun on the table, aiming the barrel at Salvatore’s chest with my finger still on the trigger. He has a brow raised and a smug smile plastered on his face when he drags his gaze from his bodyguard back to me.

“Interesting.”

“Let’s see how interesting you’ll find it when my heels are buried deep in your balls,” Vivienne hisses, her emerald eyes filled with more disgust and rage than I’ve ever seen them. “Get your dirty hands off me,” she grits out.

A burst of pride ripples through my chest. That’s my wife.

Like an arrogant son of a bitch he is, he raises his hand in mock surrender, and another crack splits through the air.

The music stops completely. The hall falls pin-drop silent.

Vivienne gaps when I pull the trigger, and the brown cigar falls to the table.

“Fucking—son of bitch!” Growling, he rises to his feet.

Satisfied, I release my finger from the trigger. “That was to ensure you never touch her again.”

He points at me with his middle finger. “You’re going to regret this, I swear to you, Mancini. No one, absolutely no fucking one, dares to disrespect me and goes scot-free.”

“Get the fuck out of my face, Russo, before I change my mind about letting you leave here with a hand.”

Seething, and probably regretting his choice of sharing a table with me, he stomps off, his back and bodyguards disappearing between the crowd.

The people are still staring, but, softly, the music rises, and soon enough, the party resumes as if nothing had just happened.

I cup Vivienne’s chin, lifting it up.

The shock is still visible in her eyes when she searches my face and licks her lips. “Antonio?”

I raise a brow to let her know I’m listening.

“Did you really have to do that?”

I lean back on my chair, and closely watch the phonies in the room. If Salvatore wasn’t out for me before, he certainly is now.

“Except you enjoyed it, yes, and even if you didn’t enjoy it, yes, I really had to do that. And if I have to do it again, I’ll do it a hundred more fucking times, gattina. No one gets to fucking touch you like that except me.”

I don’t look at her, because I’m still fuming, and don’t want her to feel like I’m redirecting the heat. After a brief moment of quiet, she mumbles a quiet, “thank you,” leans forward to press a kiss against my cheek, and withdraws into the shell the drama brought her out from.

Before I am able to interrogate her, Lorenzo appears from out of nowhere, shoving his face between hers and mine.

Expression taut, and eyes hard, he lowers his voice. His hair

falls forward, and he brushes the loose strands behind his ear. “Nio, there’s an update.”

I narrow my eyes, giving the crowd a quick once-over before I tell him, “Go on.”

“We found something. An encrypted phone recording of someone discussing the warehouse on the dock, and there are more recordings with Dante’s name in the mention. We haven’t yet been able to trace the person on the end of the line, but you can guess whose voice we recognized.”

We share a look, and his eyes dart to the man in the night blue suit who is glaring at me from across the room while he talks to his men.

Lorenzo grits his teeth, and tucks his hand into his jacket. “He knows more than we thought—about the attack on the warehouse. About Dante.”

This information hits me like a punch to the gut, and I’m pulling out my gun again.

“Are you sure?” Because if he is, I’m raining hell on that pompous piece of shit, here and now.

He nods once, his jaw set. “You can ask Luca. I know you think my methods are rash or not as organized sometimes, but this time, I swear, Nio, we’ve done the necessary checks.”

I glance across the room, my eyes zeroing in on Salvatore. He’s laughing now, with a woman, his head tipped back as if he doesn’t have a single worry in the world. What he doesn’t know is that he has me to worry about now.

My blood boils, the heat of anger rising to the surface, threatening to spill over.

He’s always been good at playing these fucking games, but never like this, like a sneaky crook who’s scared to show his face and get the job done himself.

In the end, I am right, and Dario is wrong.

Salvatore is involved somehow, and that’s all I need to know.

I drain the rest of my drink, the burn of vodka igniting my fury. “Tell one of the men stationed outside to get the car ready,” I say, checking the magazine in my gun. “Vivienne and I will be out in five minutes.”

There’s a familiar psychotic glint in Lorenzo’s eyes when he smiles. “We’re doing it here, aren’t we?”

Standing to my feet, I smile at my wife. “Whatever you do, put your head down, and don’t get up until you hear the sound of my voice. Are we clear?”

“Antonio, what are you⁠—”

“Down, Vivienne.” Aiming my gun, I signal Lorenzo. “Now.”

Tapping the earpiece in his ear, he barks off in a hot rush of Italian orders, and takes his gun out of his pocket. While he’s talking, I notice Salvatore no longer stands where he should. Not a good sign.

I scan the room, and his men are nowhere to be⁠—

The air explodes with multiple gunshots and, we can’t see him, but I hear his voice boom in a thunderous echo. “Take them down!”

A woman screams—high-pitched, strangled—as she drops to the floor, hands flying to her face in a desperate, frantic attempt to shield herself from the madness. Another shriek follows, and voices rise in frantic, disjointed screams.

Salvatore’s men surge forward like unleashed hounds, their guns raised high, the metallic glint catching the reflection of lights from the chandeliers.

Lorenzo and I retaliate, but barely have time to duck. Instantly, a dozen of my men flood the hall, and Lorenzo ducks behind a concrete pillar, returning fire with a craziness in his eyes.

I know how this is going to end eventually. More men will end up in a crumpled heap, and people will be caught in the crossfire.

I want to stay, to finish off Salvatore Russo once and for all after getting his confession firsthand, but one glance at the woman in the red dress crouched by the table makes all thoughts of vengeance fly out of the window. The primal need to protect her pushes all other desires and comes first.

“Vivienne!”

She’s frozen for a heartbeat, her eyes wide with terror, as she wraps her arms around her stomach, shielding herself.

Another bullet ricochets off the pillars in the hall near us, and something inside me snaps.

I reach for her, grabbing her arm, and pulling her toward me.

I don’t wait for her to catch up. My grip is tight, almost bruising, as I force her to move, weaving through the chaotic web of people running for their lives.

Shots ring out around us, and I throw a glance to Lorenzo. “Ritirasi!” Fall back.

He gives a curt nod, and I focus on Vivienne. “Keep your head down!” I shield her with my body, as we dart between panicking guests.

Her breath is ragged, panicked, and we’re almost to the car, where one of my men stands with his gun firing, when another shot cracks too close.

I shove Vivienne to the side, catching her before she stumbles, dragging her upright again. When my man sees us, he fires a shot above our head before fumbling with the doors.

When he wrenches the door open, we get in, and immediately, Vivienne wraps her trembling arms around me as the engines roar to life. Burying her face in my shirt, her rough sniffles disturb the silence as she cries her heart out, and I don’t try to stop her.

Pulling her close, I kiss her hair.

I don’t say anything. My pulse still pounds in my ears.

But the thought won’t leave my head.

I’m going to fucking kill Salvatore.